


It's Hardly Relevant

by improbableZero



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Coming Out, Gen, Mission Fic, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-02
Updated: 2016-06-02
Packaged: 2018-07-11 18:23:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7065094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/improbableZero/pseuds/improbableZero
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Napoleon means to tell his teammates sooner, he really does. It's just that there's never a good time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Hardly Relevant

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this back in - february, i think? anyway i am still in trash spy hell and it's wonderful.
> 
> i have sO MANY HEADCANONS about trans napoleon. so many. he is my squishy little problematic fave. please, ask me about trans napoleon.

Napoleon means to tell his teammates sooner, he really does. Keeping secrets like that isn't good for their partnership, and Waverly already knows, and he's at least moderately certain that they'll react well. He honestly does mean to tell them.

It's just that there's never a good time, and it's a bit of an odd conversation starter, and what with one thing and another, he keeps not telling them.

Besides, it's hardly relevant, he thinks. It hardly matters what he's got (or, to be precise, hasn't got) in his pants, or what name his parents gave him. Not terribly important in their line of work.

Sometimes, Napoleon has to admit to himself, he makes incredibly poor life choices. Joining the Army was one of those; putting off telling his teammates is another.

The three of them are on a mission in Argentina, accumulating evidence against a politician who, they're fairly certain, has ties to that same international criminal fascist organization they encountered on their very first affair as a team. They're not looking to actually prove to the world the bit about the fascism, although that would be a nice bonus - they're merely trying to discredit him utterly and ruin his life so he can't run for re-election.

Napoleon is their burglar, although Gaby is learning fast and Illya is surprisingly quiet when he needs to be, so Napoleon is the one who sneaks into the politician's ridiculous house several hours' drive from the city to go poking through his papers and belongings. Because he's overconfident, he gets caught, and it's just his luck that their politician is in fact involved with the organization they thought he was, and the sum total of all these things is that Napoleon spends some time by himself in a tiny cell, interrupted occasionally by impolite demands to tell the politician's minions who he's working for.

Gaby and Illya come retrieve him after a day or so has passed, and Napoleon is a little ridiculously glad to see them. He doesn't ask why they took so long to come get him - the tiny cell and the secret underground base that contains it aren't terribly near the politician's house, and they hadn't been expecting Napoleon back until at least the evening following the break-in anyway.

He is a bit uncomfortable, however, quite aside from the bruises the politician's minions left. He tends to wrap bandaging about his chest to keep those unfortunate fat deposits from ruining the lines of his suits, and ordinarily it's not a problem, but ordinarily he's not wearing it for more than, say, twelve to sixteen hours at a stretch. His ribs have been compressed for - well, he's not certain how long, but somewhere between three and five times the standard duration - and they're starting to complain, and his breathing isn't doing so well. Not that he'd mention as much to his teammates. He occasionally has what some might call poor timing, but even he knows that right at the end of a mission, with everyone tired and cranky and the objective not quite achieved yet, is not a good time to reveal delicate information about one's anatomy.

Tragically, Illya and Gaby are actually very good spies and, as such, are observant enough to notice that Napoleon's favoring his ribs.

"Shirt off, Solo," Gaby orders briskly as soon as the three of them are safely ensconced in their hotel room.

Napoleon bats his eyelashes at her. "Why, Miss Teller, I never."

Illya rolls his eyes and pokes Napoleon viciously in the side.

Napoleon flinches and lets out a hiss of breath that's a little more wheezy than he'd like. "Unkind, Peril. Have a little sympathy."

"For what, your broken ribs?" Illya says.

"Hardly broken," Napoleon protests. He would really like to slink off to lick his wounds in peace now.

Gaby, merciless creature that she is, starts on the buttons of Napoleon's shirt. Napoleon attempts escape, but Illya takes him by the upper arms and holds him in place. Illya's left thumb digs into a rather sizeable bruise on Napoleon's arm.

"Rude," Napoleon mutters, going as limp and deadweight as he can. If he's going to be made to suffer the indignity of being pinned and stripped, he's at least going to be as uncooperative as possible for it.

"Not as rude as you pretending you're not hurt," Gaby says pleasantly. She's managed to get all the buttons undone, leaving Napoleon with only his t-shirt to protect his virtue.

"I am capable of taking care of myself, you know," Napoleon points out.

"Wrong," says Illya. He sounds absurdly smug. "Are you going to finish taking your clothes off so we can check and wrap your ribs, or are we going to have to do it for you?"

Napoleon sighs, deeply put-upon. "Fine, I'll do it." If he can't have his secrets, he might as well gather the shreds of his dignity. Besides, once they let him go, he can flee.

Illya cautiously releases him. Illya is really far too trusting.

"Don't you dare bolt," says Gaby, arms folded menacingly.

"Never crossed my mind," Napoleon lies blithely. He undoes his cuffs, shrugs off his button-down, strips off his t-shirt.

"What is that?" Illya asks, poking at the bandaging around Napoleon's chest. He sounds almost like he did their very first mission together, when confronted with an aircraft carrier.

"Bandaging," Napoleon says unhelpfully. He finds the end and starts unwinding, casually rolling the linen up as he goes. It's a familiar motion, habitual, and he keeps his eyes firmly on the far wall, not wanting to see how his teammates react. Finally, it's all off, and Napoleon sucks in what feels like his first real breath in days. "As you can see, I'm perfectly fine, if slightly bruised. I'll be right as rain tomorrow. Can I go now, or is there going to be more fussing?"

There is silence. Napoleon waits, refusing to cross his arms over his chest. Even with the air conditioning, it's stiflingly hot in the hotel room.

"Solo," says Gaby, then pauses, as if unsure how to word whatever it is she wants to say next.

"You called?" Napoleon says. His heart is beating loudly enough that he's certain Gaby and Illya can hear it. His mouth feels dry. He's still not looking at his teammates.

"I think what she means to say," Illya says, "is, why do you have breasts?"

Well, that's blunt. "I was going to tell you," says Napoleon, aware that it sounds a little weak. "Just never quite got around to it."

There's another pause.

"Why don't we sit down," Gaby suggests, "and you can tell us now. After, of course, we make sure your ribs aren't broken and you've put your shirt back on."

"Sounds like a plan," Napoleon agrees.

Once Napoleon's been poked, prodded, and bandaged to Gaby and Illya's satisfaction, he puts his t-shirt back on, although not the bandaging under it, and they all sit down on the lovely little chairs the hotel has provided.

"Talk," says Illya.

"Well," says Napoleon, and he talks. He tells them about running away to join the Army, about lying on his papers - "I was already lying about my age, so I thought I might as well lie some more, since I'd have a better chance of doing something exciting that way." Also a better chance of being sent as far away as possible, but he's not going to mention that if he can possibly help it.

"Isn't there a physical exam?" Gaby asks.

Napoleon shrugs. "I burst into tears, told the nurse I was following my sweetheart, and asked her not to tell. Worked like a charm."

Illya rolls his eyes. "So what you are saying is that you have always been a - what is the word, a con?"

Napoleon shrugs, deliberately not letting his shoulders hunch forward. "Anyway, joined the Army, went to Europe, learned to pick pockets, went to Korea, took my discharge happily when they let me go, went back to Europe, became an internationally wanted criminal, joined the CIA, got a mission to extract a gorgeous young mechanic from East Berlin," here he bats his eyelashes at Gaby and gets an elbow to the abdomen for his pains, "and here we are." He takes a breath. "Waverly knows, by the way, and doesn't give a flying damn," he adds, since it seems like it might be relevant.

"So you just - started pretending, and then...forgot to stop?" Gaby asks.

"Not quite," says Napoleon. "It was pretending at first, but after a while I realized I was much more comfortable as a man than I'd ever been as a girl, so I didn't see any reason to go back." He shrugs. "Waverly offered to let me, ah, 'stop pretending,' as he put it, but I turned him down."

Both his teammates are quiet.

Eventually, Gaby shrugs. "It's not like you're suddenly not Napoleon anymore."

"And you were already a terrible spy, so my opinion of you cannot get any worse," Illya adds. Napoleon is fairly sure he's joking.

Napoleon lets out a breath and puts a smile on his face. "Now that's settled, I have some fascinating information to share about our target."

The mission goes off without further hitches and with surprisingly few awkward stares from Illya and Gaby, then they're off to the next one.


End file.
